A couple days ago I blogged about the Easter Sunday services I remember so fondly from childhood – the exuberant celebrations I have not experienced for decades and yet earnestly long for.

Today’s Easter Reality, on this Sunday, April 1st, is a far cry from what I long for. Outside, sun glistens blindingly bright on the snow and the temperature is a mere 28 degrees Fahrenheit. Pretty chilly for a day set apart for Easter Egg Hunts in the grass!

Indoors, I have chills too. And a cough. Sinus headache. Pain. Stiffness. And a fever – I’m on my third day of running a fever.

In spite of my symptoms, I actually feel better this afternoon than I did last night. But I’m sofa bound. I was so excited about feeling better this morning that I actually made my bed, throw pillows and all. Now, rather than mess it up by taking a much needed nap, I’m stretched out on our living room sectional, bundled under a vintage camp blanket, trying to ward of the chills.

As you know, when you’re sick, you have a lot of time on your hands. And I lay here thinking about how (in my mind) Easter Sunday is supposed to be, compared to what is.

So I grabbed my iPad and a pair of ear buds and went on a YouTube search. Surely somewhere there must be a recording of “Christ The Lord is Risen Today,” with full-on organ and trumpets! Admittedly, it wouldn’t be the same as standing in church, looking up at my mother as she joyfully sang that glorious hymn. But still, I did find a version that brought tears to my eyes!

I wish I could share it with you, but I’m not that tech savvy yet. You can hopefully find it by doing a search of the hymn title, plus Coral Ridge Presbyterian Church.

I pray your Easter Sunday is greatly blessed. For, regardless of our present circumstances, because of Jesus Christ, we have much to celebrate!

I SO miss the celebration of Easter I knew growing up. Easter was a big deal! We talked about it, planned for it, weeks in advance, all while observing Wednesday Lenten services leading up to the Big Day.

Though we had little money to spare, Mom sewed new dresses for us girls. (Never paid attention to what my four brothers wore.) It was a “given,” everyone wore their best to church on Easter Sunday. I don’t ever recall it being a fashion show, but more a way of honoring God. It was HIS Day!

Easter Sunday started early with a Sunrise Service (followed by a Pancake Breakfast in the church basement). At the time, I had no idea what a feat it must have been for Mom to get all us kids up, dressed, and out the door at such an early hour!

The church was fragrant with lilies. Other colorful floral displays filled the altar. We had a good view from the balcony, where our family usually filled a whole row. Or two, depending on where we got seats.

My favorite part of the service was the special only-on-Easter-Sunday trumpets. I could hardly wait to hear them!

Finally…

The congregation stood up, the organ gave a powerful rumbling prelude, and then, with a mighty blast of triumph, those golden instruments led us in announcing His victory… “CHRIST THE LORD IS RISEN TODAY…ALLELUIA…”

“Can’t you even put away your phone long enough to take a walk?” Those weren’t the exact words but it was something to that effect. Because of unusual circumstances at this stage of life, I am alone a lot. Much of my connection to the outside world is via internet, TV, and my cell phone – upon which, I admit, I’ve become far too dependent – to check email and Facebook connections.

This became far too apparent when I went out on the trail this afternoon. I made my way through the trees skirting the canyon and came out on the paved walking trail. Immediately, my first instinct was to log on and check FB and email. That’s when the admonition sounded clearly in my thoughts. Seriously?! Can’t you put it away even for a walk?

I immediately shut off my cell and forced it into my too-small back jeans pocket.

I looked up. And out. And listened.

It is late afternoon. The marshland thrives with life. A Mallard drake and his hen leave gentle ripples as they lazily glide along the pond. Frogs – by the hundreds, thousands? – signal their presence. The familiar trill of Redwing Blackbirds remind me of a rusty well pump handle squawking in protest. I feel frustration because I can’t identify many of the multitude of other birds songs calling across the canyon.

To the right of my path, a cotton-tail freezes, hoping I won’t notice it, while on the other side and a little ahead another bunny high tails it into a thicket.

I walk on. Scurried motion in shrubbery on both sides of the path reveal the presence of other creatures rushing for their camouflaged cover. It works. I know they’re there but I can’t see them.

In the distance at water’s edge, I see more movement and wish I’d brought binoculars to identify either the wild turkey or pheasant taking a drink.

I walk on. The path curves and I make a mental note to keep my mouth shut as I forge through the local swarm of gnats.

Ahead is one of my favorite landmarks – the gnarled tree with weathered strips of wood nailed to its trunk – once a ladder to the primitively constructed deer stand in its overhanging branches…

I reach in my back pocket and wrestle out my iPhone, no longer interested in logging onto anything. I simply want to capture – document – savor – this walk. This balm to my soul.

When I was a child, ours was not a family of “means.” I was very aware that other kids in the neighborhood, and at school, seemed to have more than we did. It still amazes me that I can say that not once did we go on a family vacation. Nor did we ever eat in a restaurant. Not once. But what we didn’t have, and what we didn’t do, is not what this post is about. It’s about what we did have.

A fence separated our back yard from the neighbors’. Along that wire border grew lilac bushes which, every spring, filled the air with a fragrance that planted itself in my DNA. Also along that fence grew a few stray purple iris, and further down the fence, at the other end, stood a mulberry tree, perfect for climbing.

On the other side of our back yard, along the fence that protected us kids from our other neighbor’s ferocious (and I’m not kidding) chow, was another, smaller mulberry tree. This one yielded berries every summer, and we joyously ate them. We also delighted in sucking the nectar from the tips of columbine blossoms, which grew around the base of the tree.

Because this fence was on the north side of the yard, and because of the tree, it provided the perfect spot for other shade-loving plants as well. Such as fern; their unfurling fronds were endlessly fascinating. Every spring, nestled in this same semi-shady area, bloomed exquisite “bleeding hearts.”

There wasn’t more than about five feet between our house and the brick four-plex to the north. It was almost always shady along that side and lilies of the valley grew in great profusion. We knew the chow was locked up when his owner was at work so we dared to edge into that small “alley” to pick stems of those little white bells. We brought them to our mother who displayed the diminutive bouquets in a juice glass.

At the base of the steps from our back porch, hollyhocks bordered the sidewalk in vivid pinks, fucias, yellows and coral. (This photo is not from that time. These were grown from seeds three years ago – a gift from my sister who knows how much, to this day, I love hollyhocks.)

Following the path around to the front of our house, framing our screened-in front porch, grew great bushes of, what we called, “bridal wreath.” Their tiny, lacy white flowers bloomed for a time, and then the petals fell, coating the sidewalk and grass like snow.

All of these gardening wonders appeared in our yard every spring and summer without my mother’s tending. We children took them all for granted. It is these memories which are so precious. A part of my childhood that I long to re-create, it is these flowers I covet most for my Dream Garden.

* Got to tour Bachman’s (Florist) “Idea House” in Minneapolis on the 2nd. Every few months, they completely change the interior decor. This time, the theme centered on re-purposing and re-cycling. If you’ve read my About Me page, you know I love redeeming cast off stuff anyway, so the tour really whetted by creative instincts.

* For May, this is a bit too chilly for me.

* Am so enjoying the Goldfinches coming to our feeder.

* Iris’ are blooming.

* Annual community Garage Sale this Saturday. Am in such a mood to simplify and downsize. Anyone interested in a ’50s turquoise rotary dial telephone? Very retro! There is going to be so many cool goodies in our sale; if it weren’t my stuff, I’d be excited to buy it. But…oh, yeah, I’m downsizing, aren’t I?

* Praying with a group on a regularly basis for a unit of guys in Afghanistan. God is answering in miraculous ways. It has boosted my faith immensely…and taught me that we ask far too little of God. Prayer is a privilege!!! Why don’t we take advantage of it more? Seriously, the Creator of the Universe wants to hear from you. He loves you, you know.

It’s been months since I’ve posted here. If I wait until I feel like composing prose, I may never write again. So, I’ve decided to cast away all writing fear and record my thoughts, as random as they may be…

My father-in-law, who is 87, is an enviable gardener. Last fall, he shared with me some bulbs – lily, iris, phlox – and some peony sprouts. I was thrilled – especially about the peonies – which are heirloom plants brought from Norway by his grandmother (or was it great-grandmother?), about 100 years ago.

I managed to get all the bulbs planted but not the peony roots. They needed a different spot in the yard. A brand new place. My hero had great intentions of removing sod and preparing a great place for them.

But because his job demanded enormous amounts of overtime, he just couldn’t get to it.

Weeks passed, pushing us into late fall. In desperation, I finally decided I’d do it myself. I was soon shocked to discover I had neither the strength nor the tools to cut through sod, much less, prepare five holes, each a foot wide and a foot deep, as I’d been instructed by a peony expert whom I’d phoned for advice while in that state of desperation.

I should probably mention that I did manage to dig one hole – almost deep enough. I’d started late in the day but decided I should probably stop digging when our neighbor backed into his driveway and just sat there with his truck headlights beaming at me…digging a hole in my yard in the dark.

Which turned out to be a good thing for another reason. The next day, as my college-age son and his friend sat eating my home cooking, I asked the friend if he would be willing to dig holes in our yard, for pay. He agreed but in a follow-up phone conversation, he suggested I first call and have our yard marked for underground wires, etc. You know – the “Call Before You Dig” advice.

So I did. I called. A few days later, I saw little wires with colored flags marking varying spots in my yard. And red lines sprayed in the grass, directly across the hole I’d begun digging.

I need to shorten this so I can get to bed…

Finally, on a frigid, windy, rainy November day, the young man I hired, and our son, not only dug the holes, they mixed in the compost I’d lugged home. And, with my guidance, planted the peony roots.

It had been weeks since I’d received those heirloom starters from my father-in-law and I was more than worried they may not sprout. But now it’s spring. April. And I am so stoked to see they’ve come up!

And the young man, one of my “sons,” who incidentally turned down my pay, is now in another state beginning training to be a Navy Seal.